


buscando líos

by laratoncita



Series: To Live & Die in LA [9]
Category: On My Block (TV)
Genre: Character(s) of Color, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 09:45:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18775756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laratoncita/pseuds/laratoncita
Summary: Don’t matter how many tattoos he covers himself in, how long his record is. She knows him better than she knows herself, knows that there’s something gentle in him that can never be cut out. They’ve known each other for too long for anything else to be true.





	buscando líos

**Author's Note:**

> title: _looking for trouble_ ; featuring excessive voseo and no translations, sorry! if my conjugations for vos are wack though please tell me, i use tú form and taught myself most of these :(:

Claudia’s changed her number enough times in the last few years that she genuinely isn’t expecting it. She doesn’t even live in the same house she spent most of her teenage years in, kicked out at eighteen like all the other foster kids who aged out of the system. She got lucky, she figures, since it was so close to graduation anyway. Made it out of town just fine even if she ended up coming back.

It’s been years since she last talked to Oscar. Straight up years, even if she didn’t mean for it to have been so long. She visited him as often as she could, the summer before her sophomore year, but then she moved to San Diego and things got real rough between them. He said some things he shouldn't have and she said some things back, and after that she got so busy that she couldn't get back to him to make up even though she wanted to. Tried writing letters and was never sure if he read them. Didn’t have money for a lot of things, some months, moved between sublets so often that eventually she lost more than a few documents she should have kept, his contact information included. She graduated the year before, got her teaching certifications and moved back to LA. Works in South Central, now, with kids like her and kids that are way different, besides.

He shows up at her job on a Friday. Looks different than she’s used to, the memories she has of him. Something different about the way he holds himself, maybe. Same fucking tear tattoo she used to lick when he fucked her in the backseat of his car, though. She wouldn’t want to be sixteen again for anything, not when she remembers loving him so much it gutted her. He grins when he sees her, like he didn’t notice her stop in the middle of the parking lot, his car parked next to hers—same shitty model she’s had since before they locked him up the second time, a 2004 Nissan Altima she bought before she had even left to San Diego.

“Long time no see, Claudia,” he says, leaning against the hood of his car with a cigarette in his hand. She wants to smack the shit out of him. Long time no see, huh? Like it hasn’t been years. Like she’s just some hyna he’s trying to put the moves on. She doesn’t even have the energy to be mad about how things ended between them, not now that he's back in front of her, not a dream come true but something close. He gives her a look, head to toe. Makes something hot rise up inside her, against her will, even as she comes to a stop in front of him. “You looking good, mamita.”

“Oscar,” she says, raising an eyebrow. He’s wearing a white tee, baggy jean shorts with the socks pulled up like always. She hates that he still looks good in it. “How’d you track me down? I don’t even have your number no more.”

“Wanted to forget about me, huh?” he says. He says it like it could be flirtatious, but Claudia knows him too well to believe it. Knows there’s something underneath it that’s smarting.

She says, voice low like she used to sound when she’d patch him up on bad nights, “Vos sabés como estaba, Oscar. I was between places so much I lost a lotta my shit. Pictures of my moms, even." _I’m sorry_ , she almost says.

For giving up so easily. Not calling, not writing, not visiting. For not coming back even though she meant to. Maybe not sorry for trying her best, but for trying to forget him after, at least. Because she loved him. Because she _wanted_ to, even if she didn't end up getting what she wanted, not with him, no matter how badly she really needed him, those first few months away from Freeridge and him locked up in the joint.

His expression shifts. On him, it’s a big deal; lets her know he actually feels for her. Maybe not like other people might, but Oscar’s always been a special case. She knew that the day she met him.

“Aw, nena,” he says. “ _I’m_ sorry. You gone to see her lately?”

Of course he’s apologizing to her. Maybe even about their shitty breakup, the things they both said. Oscar makes the worst kind of sense. He also knows her too well. That’s what growing up together during the hard parts of adolescence will do; Claudia should know.

“Nah,” Claudia says. “Been so busy with work, you know. Finishing up for the year already. Maybe I’ll go before classes start up next month.”

“You a real-ass teacher now, huh?” he’s grinning at her. Dimpled, even. She finds herself returning the smile too easily.

“Yeah,” she says, “third grade. Buncha brats, pero sabés como son. They’re good kids.”

“I always knew you was gonna blow up big,” he says. He’s always sounded so proud of her. Like she’s some hotshot lawyer or something, and not teaching in a public school with more debt than she’d like. Same Oscar as ever, seems like.

“Say that to my student loans,” she says, rolling her eyes. Stays grinning even as he laughs at her. “Whatchu doing out here, anyway?” she asks, “You don’t come this far South in the city, usually. Didn’t you used to say you got all you need in Freeridge?”

“Ay, but you don’t live there no more,” he says, and straightens up. Claudia always forgets how tall he is. His posture’s been shit forever, but he’s bigger now, across the shoulders like all he did in jail was work out. Looks better than ever. He’s close enough that she can smell his aftershave, too, same smell as always. She swallows.

“You blame me? You think I wanna sit in traffic for hours just to get to work?”

“You’re too smart for that,” he says, and brings a hand up to cup her face. “Too smart for a lotta shit. You miss me, Claudis?”

“‘S that why you out here?” she says, like she can’t feel her face getting hot. Whole body on fire just from one touch. Used to do that all the time, in bed or just cruising around, hands on her just because he wanted her close. “How long you been back, anyway?”

“Few days,” he says, rubbing his thumb against her lower lip. She’s going to kill him one of these days, but first—“Where you living, huh?”

“Why?”

He gives her an unimpressed look.

“You wanna fuck in my car, then?” he says, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Like old times, huh?”

She purses her lips to keep from smiling, says instead, “Who says I’m fucking you?”

“You let just anyone touch you like this?”

“Like what—” he kisses her. She doesn’t stand a chance, really, doesn't hesitate for a second. Wraps her arms around his neck like he’s the best thing in her life right now. It wouldn’t be true, but there can’t be any harm in letting him think so. Sighs when he presses his tongue inside her mouth, bites his lower lip the way she remembers him liking.

He pulls back, says, “So in the car, then?” and she smacks at his stupidly broad shoulders half-heartedly.

“No,” she says, and takes a step back. Lets him keep both her hands in his. “Oscar, this is school property. They put you on the sex offender list for that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, feeling crazy like she usually does when he tries to get her to go along with some dumb shit he thinks would be fun. “It’s indecent exposure if they catch you in public.”

“Didn’t stop us before,” he says, tugging her close again and kissing her, sweetly this time. She lets him, puts both hands on his waist and closes her eyes as soon as their faces are close enough.

She says, once they’re done, “That’s ‘cause we were dumb kids back then. I lost my virginity in that damn car, I’m embarrassed for myself.”

“Lotsa good memories in the backseat,” he says, pressing two fingers to her mouth this time. “Lemme drive you home, nena.”

“You want me to leave my car…in a lot… _overnight_?” This man knows nothing.

“You work at a _school_ ,” he says, amused, “you telling me you’ll get jacked?”

“Baboso, this is LA,” she says, “you think these muthafuckers care?”

“I miss you cussing at me,” he says, pulling her close, their hips slotting together like it’s only been a day since the last they got into bed together. She’s not falling for it that easily. At least not while she’s still technically at work.

“No seás dundo,” she says, but kisses him again. Maybe all she wants to do for the rest of the day is kiss him, so what? The second he gets his hands on her she loses any shred of dignity she might have had, and worse, can’t even bring herself to resent him for it. It was a lot of fun, back in the day. “C’mon. Me podés seguir. Unless you want the address instead. Wanna meet me there?”

“Te sigo,” he says, squeezing her hands once and then letting them drop. “Lemme see what kinda digs you got, baby.”

* * *

He whistles when they walk into her apartment. She makes a face. Huntington Park is better than Freeridge, sure, but that doesn’t mean her apartment’s anywhere near as nice as it could be. She’s got a single counter to use for cooking, for God’s sake.

“Lookitchu,” he says, arm around her waist since the second they got into her building, “you leveling up, Claudis.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, “you want some water? I think I have sparkling.”

“Sparkling? That tastes like shit.”

“You know you don’t gotta say all that, right?” she deadpans, “I’ll get you water.”

He follows her to the kitchen, takes the glass she pulls out from the cabinet and sets it back down in the sink carefully. Kisses her there up against the sink, maneuvers her so easily it’s like he’s never left at all. They learned each other well, those couple of years they spent screwing around in the back of his car and, sometimes, his bedroom.

They were in love, a fact that used to sting, especially those first few months after their breakup. It's not like they got to go to school dances together and pose for pictures with each other’s folks, though the latter might’ve been because neither of them had much by way of family. But they loved each other, no matter the scars that Freeridge gave them, even if she's spent the last four years trying to get over it. She _did_ , unfortunately, lose her virginity in the back of his car, remembers it happening just after he dropped out. She’d been so mad at him that their yelling match turned into a necking session and then she was demanding he at least attempt to find her clit if he was going to try and put it in her.

Oscar brings out the Freeridge in her. She’s spent several years trying to forget it’s there at all.

Not that it’s made a difference, since he’s got a hand up the skirt of her dress within ten minutes of walking into her place. She expects him to say something about how wet she already is when they separate, mouths slick, but he just keeps rubbing her over her underwear, pressing kisses against her jaw.

“You wanna hop up on the counter, nena?”

“Mhm,” she says against his mouth, hooks an arm around his shoulder when he lifts her. Again, she has a single square counter in the kitchen, and knows she’s going to regret whatever he’s about to do to her in an hour, when she remembers that she does, in fact, prepare food there. For now, though, she’s content to be balanced at the very edge, knees on either side of his hips while he slips a finger inside of her.

She makes a noise he swallows down, scrapes her nails down his back best as she can, considering they’re still wearing entirely too much clothes. He presses his thumb to her clit, rubs gently as he mouths against her throat. She hates that she’s breathing heavy already, but it’s been awhile. Tried having a steady boyfriend after she lost his information, hated it, and spends most of her time at work now, anyway.

“Mamita,” he breathes, “can I get a taste?”

“ _Puya_ ,” she says, half-moaning when he presses a second finger in, curls his fingers the way she likes best. Figures he’d remember how to drive her crazy. In bed and out of it. “Yes, please.”

He’s so tall. She tries to make mental note to make fun of him for it again, like she used to when they were kids. Before and after they started sleeping together, her telling him to shrink a little, why did he need to be so tall when none of the Mexicans or Salvadorans they knew ever broke five-ten, let alone six feet?

Together they get her underwear off. He has to bend at the waist to get his mouth on her, and she braces herself against the counter to make sure she doesn’t slip off. Moans at the first press of his tongue against her, squirms when he licks upward.

Oscar groans a little, satisfied-sounding, pulls back to say, “You taste so good, Claudia,” and she has to bite her lip. Closes her eyes when he presses two fingers inside of her again and starts licking at her.

He’s got his free hand up against her waist to keep her dress out of his way best as he can, eating her out with relish. It’s taking her a lot of effort to not squirm right off the counter and onto the floor—almost as much as it takes to keep her legs from snapping closed around him. Claudia did that more than once when they first started sleeping together, remembers him pulling away from her with wide, laughing eyes, caught off guard by how much she liked his face in her lap.

They were so young back then. She sure as hell never imagined them like this, grown-up Oscar after his second strike and her actually doing the work she wants to do. Certainly not fucking on her tiny ass kitchen counter, at least.

“Oh, God,” she says when she feels herself get close, “Oscar, c’mon. I have a bed.”

In a typical asshole move, he presses his tongue flat against her first, licks upwards and presses something like a sucking kiss against her clit. She’s going to kill him.

“Oscar,” she hisses, arching upwards for a second before shoving him away from her. “You know I like it better when you’re inside me.”

“Yeah?” he says, coming close like he knows she wants him there. Slots their hips together when she reels him back in, and she breathes in deeply at the feel of him hard against her. “Wasn’t sure you still liked that.”

“What else would I like,” she mutters, kissing him. This, too, is familiar—the taste of her on his mouth, the scrape of his facial hair against her skin. She pushes her hands up his shirt, bites his lower lip, aggressive like it’s the first time all over again. He catches her hands, though, holds both loosely with his own while he softens the kiss.

Don’t matter how many tattoos he covers himself in, how long his record is. She knows him better than she knows herself, knows that there’s something gentle in him that can never be cut out. They’ve known each other for too long for anything else to be true. He’s the same guy she first gave it up to, the only one she’s ever taken to visit her mother’s grave, the only regret she’s had in her entire life. There’s a truth there she’ll never get with anyone else.

Once they’re in bed and she’s gone digging through her things for a condom, he pushes inside of her slowly. Laces their fingers together, kisses her mouth and nose and chin like he missed every part of her and not just the sex. She locks her ankles over his lower back, moans like it’s been too long because it has.

“You feel so good,” she tells him, watching him quirk a little smile at her and then bite his lip, hips moving slowly against hers.

“You like this?” he asks. From anyone else it would sound like gloating. He’s moving so carefully, though, watching her so seriously that she knows he’s checking in, like he always does. Maybe he’s the most dangerous man she’s shared a bed with, but it’s real easy to forget when he acts like this when they’re in it.

She whimpers when she comes, and he buries his head against her neck when he finishes. She relaxes her legs slowly, keeps her knees up so that it feels like she’s cradling him against her. His breathing is still real heavy, and the hot-cold feel of it against her neck gives her goosebumps. She rubs a hand up his back, feels the new muscles there, clutches at his waist with the other. Sighs when he pulls out, says, “Garbage can by the dresser,” and pulls the covers down so they can crawl under them. It’s early, still, so maybe they can order dinner soon, or she can cook, or he can. Whatever works.

She hooks her leg over his hip once they settle together, says, warningly, “ _Oscar_ ,” when he rubs two fingers over her clit.

He chuckles, tilts her head up for a kiss and—mercifully—moves his hand to her waist instead. Rearranges them so that she can use his arm as a pillow. Just looks at her for a long time, something familiar and unfamiliar about it all at once. It makes something warm bubble up in her belly. A new feeling that doesn’t feel all that new, if she really thinks about it.

“Qué querés de mí,” Claudia mutters, and swipes her thumb against that damned tear tattoo. Remembers how much it turned her on when he first got it. How she used leave hickeys just under the cross on his neck, once it healed. Years removed from all of that—from Freeridge, and maybe Oscar too—means she isn’t quite as enamored of the tattoos as she used to be. Knows, now, how permanent of a marking each of them is. What they really mean. Says, “You drove over here just to fuck me, then?”

“Nah,” he says, and she feels his thumb stroke along her waist. He’s still watching her. “I wanted to see you, too.”

“All of me, yeah?”

“It’s a nice view, mamita,” he says, grinning. His voice is rougher like this, after a round of sex. Lower. More intimate. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” she says. Immediately. Guilty, almost. “I should have looked harder for your info. I still can’t believe I lost it.”

“Nah, don’t worry about that,” he says, real serious. “You were living your life, yeah? Got that degree and shit, did everything you wanted.”

“Maybe not everything.”

“No? Whatchu miss out on?”

“My partner-in-crime was locked up,” she says, running her fingers over his eyebrows, cheekbone, down his jaw, “had no one to cause trouble with.”

He chuckles, “What, you didn’t make no friends?”

“’S not the same,” she says, “none’a them were from LA, anyway. Had no one to shoot the shit with.”

“That’s why you keep me around, huh?”

“And your looks, yeah.”

“You think you’re funny,” he says, dimple showing. “Musta been hard, by yourself in San Diego. You head down to TJ at all?”

“A few times,” she says, “they don’t much like Salvis down there, you know.”

He frowns. She touches that little spot between his eyebrows, the scrunched up expression surprisingly endearing on him. She wants to laugh at the thought of his boys calling him Spooky—here he is in her bed, worried that people were assholes to her because of where her dead mother was from. He’s only ever been Oscar to her.

“You don’t need to fight nobody for me, Oscar,” she tells him.

“But I would,” he says, “you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” she says. Then, “Dame besito, Oscar,” grinning when he laughs.

“I missed your accent, nena,” he says, pressing a loud, wet kiss to her mouth and smirking when she makes a face, “the Salvadorans in the joint thought it was real funny I knew voseo.”

“Voseo is the best way to talk to people,” she says, putting a hand on his chest, “not my fault most of you Santos is Mexican instead of Salvadoreño.”

“You wanna send more our way, be my guest, nena.”

She says, after a minute, “How’d you find me, anyway?”

He tilts his head a little. Eyes real dark, the lights in her room still off. Says, “I asked around.”

She hums. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah,” he says, and pulls her closer, skin on skin warm, “you’re doing real good, Claudia. I’m really happy for you.”

“I’m glad you’re back,” she tells him, instead of _thank you_. Isn’t sure why saying it feels like the wrong move. Lets him cup her face like he did in the parking lot, like he needs to get another good look her.

“Me too,” he says, and she closes her eyes before he can kiss her again.


End file.
